Four Times Katniss Didn't Say I Love You
by one.twilight.sun
Summary: ...and the one time she did.


**Four Times Katniss Didn't Say 'I Love You'**

…**and the one time she did.**

_i._

She doesn't know what to call it, what she feels when he holds her in his arms on that train ride back to the Capitol.

It's a journey that should never have been repeated yet they are compelled to do again. They have to do it for their District, for their families' and for their own lives. No one feels it is right. Not even Effie who lacks her usual effervescence.

The only comfort, if one could call it such a word, she finds is in his arms in the darkest hours. In that short ride, she finds a margin of peace, a pocket of time when she can forget what had happened such a short while ago and is now expected to face again.

He thinks she is asleep when he whispers his love into her hair, his strong arms holding her tight, one hand buried in her hair. She keeps her breathing even so as not to give away the fact that she is awake and listening to him and feeling something grow inside of her that she won't name.

_ii._

She feels like she has the word on the tip of her tongue when they kiss on that beach.

He's looking at her like she's the sun who nourishes him when she knows that all she ever does is bring destruction. Yet she can't deny the pull he has. She thinks that if she's his sun, then he's her earth, grounding her.

Even though she knows she will probably die tomorrow, she wants him to know that she feels…_something_ for him. She wants to cry in frustration that she can't put a name to this slow burn in her belly and the warmth in her heart. But instead, she pulls him closer, tasting him, learning the contours of his mouth, feeling the muscles of his back.

_iii._

She's almost ready to say it to him when he's rescued from the Capitol. Her hands are shaking with nerves and her palms are getting sweaty. She resolutely wipes them on her shirt, hoping that she looks somewhat presentable (a thought that hadn't crossed her mind in ages). She tucks an escaped strand of hair behind one ear, stalling before the door to where he is.

Her mind brings up the desperation she'd felt when she saw him on the vids, witnessed his slow destruction and the purity that she'd only ever found in him being snuffed out. She hopes that he'll be okay. _Hopes. _She'd given up on that long ago and she mocks herself for thinking it now.

Taking a deep breath she opens the door and her heart leaps into her throat as she finally sets eyes on him. His head turned at the sound of her entering and it seems that he's equally entranced at the sight of her. There's some heavy emotion in her eyes that she reads as that love he'd always talked about before and she finds it in herself to move towards him.

She's opening her mouth to speak, to give him the words that she knows he's always wanted to hear, when his hand closes itself around her throat and the words are crushed.

_iv._

The bed is for sleeping until the night that he kisses her.

They'd been talking about inconsequential things, the mundaniety that thankfully rules their current lives, when they'd run out of things to say and took to staring into one another's eyes. Neither of them are tired enough yet to fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep. They're not going to force sleep on themselves for that is a sure road to nightmares.

The air grows heavy between them and the rhythm of her breathing picks up for no particular reason. Slowly he moves his head towards hers, giving her plenty of time to stop him, never breaking eye contact until her eyes close on their own volition. She holds her breath until his lips touch hers. It's tentative at first, a forgotten form of communication between them, being learned again. A small brush, just skin against skin before air separates them once more. Her eyes flutter open to meet his own above hers and there's a question in them that she has no trouble interpreting.

She reaches up and pulls his mouth back to hers. This time it's a proper kiss, like the one on that long ago beach and the burn is back inside her and she can't stop herself from moving closer to him, pressing herself against him. His hands seem to be everywhere all at once, bringing heat in their wake. They lose themselves in each other and the world is finally _perfect_ for just a short while.

After the blinding light fades behind her eyes and their breathing has slowed once more, he shifts his head so his mouth is next to her ear. "You love me. Real or not real?" he whispers.

She turns her head so that her lips meet his and whispers back, "Real."

_v._

They're washing dishes next to each other. It's just another normal thing that she likes to hold close to her. It's these little moments that seem to define their relationship. The fact that his toothbrush is next to hers now in the bathroom, that he gets dinner on the table before she's back from the woods (because god knows _she _can't cook), that she knows that he can't sleep if the blankets cover his feet. She likes knowing the little quirks about him, about them.

She doesn't recall how it starts, a little splatter here, a drop there, but it soon escalates into a soapy dishwater skirmish. She's actually _giggling _as she blocks his splashes with a dinner plate, trying to get one hand clear enough to scoop some water right back at him. Her hair is slightly dripping and she can feel the ground getting slick and she's just about ready to call a truce when she's suddenly grabbed by the waist and lifted onto the counter.

She drops the plate on a surprised yelp, idly noting in the back of her mind that it didn't break. Her mouth becomes preoccupied in returning his passionate kisses and then she smells the soap on his skin and feels the dampness of his hair. She starts laughing against his mouth, unable to help herself and he pulls back, his eyes a little confused.

He looks adorable like that and she can't seem to help the silly grin on her face as her hands come up to wipe some drops off the tip of his nose and caress his cheek.

"I love you, Peeta." She doesn't even realize she's said it until she notices how still he's become. His eyes are wide and his mouth has dropped open slightly in surprise. She looks at him, a little bewildered and a little worried.

"I—it's—you've just never actually said it to me. I mean, in actual words. I _knew_ it, but," he pauses, as if he's trying to put the right words to what he's feeling, "it's so…_relieving_ to actually here it." His mouth turns up into a mildly embarrassed smile.

She feels her heart swell again with that now nameable emotion. How he continued to be with her despite his doubts was just another reason for her to feel this way about him.

"Then I'll just have to make sure you hear it from me more often." She pulls him to her by the shoulders as she leans forward to meet him halfway and kisses him softly. Pulling a little away, she kisses the corner of his lips, his cheek, his nose, his eyebrow, punctuating each gentle touch with, "_I love you_."

**Author's Note:**

**There we go! Another romantic fluffy Hunger Games piece! Enjoy but let me know what you think with that spiffy new blue button below!**


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